


Let You Go

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 05:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If you love someone, you set them free. And if they love you too . . . they'll come back.





	Let You Go

Merlin looked up from where he was staring at his chained hands, the metal restraints glinting in the dark place. The cause for his sudden attention were the familiar sounds of those expensive leather boots thudding confidently against the cold dirty ground of the dungeons, nearing his cells with every second that passed. And the clenching sensation in his gut, as well as the warm rush of his magic through his veins (_it always seemed to react in this way whenever in the presence of this person_), informed him that he knew _exactly_ who it was.

His heart began to pound violently with fear and nerves when his beautiful shade of blue eyes and handsome face came into view as he entered the room with the very same air of confidence, or preferably arrogance, that he saw in him the very first moment he had laid his eyes on him.

But this time, Merlin somehow _knew_.

That it was all an act, a facade, put up front for the sake of hiding his true feelings from his father and his people. To show that he was not being affected at all by the current situation they were both in.

Merlin knew him better than anyone else. Maybe it was a trick of their entwined Destiny, or how they are forced to spend a lot of time with each other, but he did. He knew when Arthur was only pretending, or when he was genuine and sincere and true. He knew every little detail about him, like how he would often sleep on his stomach because that was his most favorite and comfortable position, and he'd often sleep on the left side of his bed. How he loved cherries. How he would often run his eyes over all of his people whenever they were passing through the city, with a look of deep fondness and _home_ filling his eyes. How he'd roll his eyes to Merlin's face after they'd have another one of their typical bickering and bantering sessions, and then a content and huge smile would play on his lips as soon as he thought Merlin wasn't looking. And after every bad day, their banters was what he would often turn to as a source of cheering himself up. How he would keep staring after Gwen until she disappeared altogether from the room whenever he saw her, because he knew it would be a busy day for him and he would rarely get to see her again.

And he knew that right now, Arthur was feeling anything but confident.

Arthur stopped in front of the warlock's dungeon cells and waved away the following guards dismissively.

And Merlin could see the touch of weariness in the gesture and the slight trembling of his fingers as he did so. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, clearly indicating his restlessness at nights. And with Merlin knowing him so perfectly, he probably hadn't eaten as well since his lack of sleep is often associated with a lack of appetite.

As soon as the guards left them both alone, Arthur seemed to have lost all will of trying to appear strong as his shoulders and back began to slump. He gripped the cold bars in his hands tightly, his head falling wearily against them as if he couldn't hold it up anymore, his body weight leaning heavily against his arms supported by the bars as his knees trembled. He closed his worn and sad blue eyes, squeezing tightly against the burning of tears and exhaustion.

Merlin's heart broke.

"You're a sorcerer," he whispered forlornly, his soft and despaired voice as light as a gentle breeze in the spring.

It was a mistake. A purely stupid mistake.

_The large doors of the throne room flung open, banging hard against the walls from the furious force it was thrown apart with._

_The people in the midst of dinner, including the prince and king, barely had enough time to react in any other way except shooting up from their seats in shock of the sudden and loud entrance when the three newly arrived men lurched out their hands at them, each pairs of their eyes flashing gold as everyone in the room flew backwards by the force of their magic combined, held against the wall while their feet hung in the air._

_Merlin felt his own back slam against the strongly built walls, and he felt his heart begin to hammer heavily from apprehension and uncertainty. Could he really take down three and, from what his own magic could sense in the atmosphere, powerful sorcerers on his own, and at the same time keep his magic a secret?_

_He looked at Morgana's face, who seemed completely unconcerned. And Merlin knew, by the look on her smirking face, that she was somehow a part of this._

_The leading sorcerer smirked cruelly, almost mockingly, as he slowly began to make his way towards the king._

_"Uther Pendragon," he snarled angrily, the note of hatred evident in his rough voice._

_The other two merely smirked as well in the background, their arms still raised to hold the magical restraints._

_Uther parted his mouth to yell for the guards, only to be cut off by the sorcerer, "Don't even try. It's not going to work. We've put all your little guard dogs within hearing range from here under a sleeping spell."_

_"Who are you?" Uther asked, his own level of anger and hatred competing with the sorcerer's._

_Then the leader's face changed as he slapped his head in mock-realization. "Of course! Where are my manners? You may call me Fernar. Perhaps you do not remember me, but I used to live in your city. That was, until you beheaded my daughter for using magic."_

_"It was the law. She should have known that," Uther spat carelessly._

_"She was sixteen!" Fernar bellowed irately, his face twisting in hate once again as his nose flared._

_Then he sucked in a deep breath and his features relaxed, as if trying to calm himself, and then smiled tauntingly. "But I guess that shouldn't have mattered much to you. You have murdered children a lot younger than her."_

_Uther remained silent._

_Merlin watched the interaction between them, and couldn't help the slight bit of disgust arising in him at the sorcerer's words about Uther's actions. And for a second, just for a second, he darkly contemplated allowing the sorcerer to kill him for all the children he had executed. For a second, he doubted if it would really be worth saving the tyrant's life._

_But then he looked at Arthur, struggling hard against the magical hold, his blue eyes wide and features twisted in almost childlike terror as he watched his father nearing his death._

_And he knew he couldn't let that happen. Not because of Uther, but Arthur. He would do this for Arthur._

_His blue eyes wandered around the room. He was held in the center of the wall, exposed to everyone's eyes. If he used magic here, he could be risking getting found out._

_"...Now I'm going to kill you," Fernar said, almost coming to the end of his speech. "Not just for my daughter, but for every innocent being you've taken the life of."_

_But Merlin knew he had to act fast when he saw Fernar raise his hand up at the king._

_"NO!" Arthur's desperate voice rang out. Merlin could hear the helplessness in it, and that only proceeded to fuel his decisions._

_Without thinking, he muttered a spell under his breath, his irises flashing gold just as Fernar was suddenly thrown back, the other two outlaws following as their heads slammed hard against the wall, enough to daze them, but not pass them out._

_The hold on them was released as they all fell down, and Merlin looked around to make sure they were alright._

_Uther was shocked and confused, as was Morgana. Their faces held a matching anger as well, though for different reasons. The king was obviously not happy to discover another sorcerer in his castle, never mind one that saved his neck. Whereas the witch was merely upset at the interference of her plans._

_But when he looked at Arthur..._

_His enlarged eyes held an emotion, not of shock, but of horror._

_And they were staring right at him._

* * *

_In the midst of his mind-numbing horror and his jumbled emotions, Arthur proclaimed his incredulous thoughts aloud. He never meant to, really, but his tongue started moving before his brain caught up with it and, before he knew it, his voice, filled with shock and hurt and betrayal and sorrow and denial and incredulity, echoed throughout the whole large throne room for everyone to hear._

_"You're a sorcerer," Arthur said, not a question but a statement, his face twisting even more than it already was with the emotional anguish stabbing his heart and his eyes clouded slightly with tears as it all fully began to sink in. He couldn't bloody believe it, his friend - his _best_ friend was a sorcerer, practicing magic, which he had been taught was the most despicably evil and vicious thing that ever existed, right under his bloody nose._

_His emotions were all over the place, and he desperately tried to hold himself together, gather up all his messed up thoughts. An internal tug of war pulled at his conscience, his heart, his mind, his feelings, his beliefs and everything he had ever known and learned from when he was young, nagging and screaming at him to be listened to. One part of him pleaded and begged to understand, the friend (_older brother_) in him, that Merlin was still _Merlin_, the bumbling servant whom he had begun to love and care for as a best friend (_a younger brother_), the clumsy idiot who never went through a whole day without tripping on his feet, the loyal friend who had always been there for him; listened to him without forming any judgement, but simply there to lend him an ear, carry some of his pain and troubles, and comfort him, say all the right words and tell him everything he had needed to hear. It didn't matter that he had magic, that it didn't change anything in the least. Didn't change _him_. He was still the same person, and he had never tried to hurt anyone, especially not Arthur. If anything, he had only done the opposite and protected him, saved his life countless times at the expense of his own, remained by his side even during times when death was certain._

_But the other part, the part that was burning and brimming with white hot rage and hurting from the vicious betrayal that slashed at his heart and gut, and blocked all rationality and truth to seep into his thoughts, the son of his father in him, the prince in him whose ears had been hearing the same words over and over until they were driven into the very core of his being and mind, until they rang into his mind with only a simple mention of magic and sorcerers. That part of him screamed he was just the same as the rest, there to destroy and ruin and hurt._

_He let himself be weak. Let the cruel agony of betrayal and lies and the dark fury coursing through his veins and burning in his entire trembling body shroud him like a cloak. Let that part take over him wholly for a moment as the same words rang into his head, spinning around like a tornado and repeating itself like a parrot._

All sorcerers are evil.

_Merlin stared at him, erythraen blue eyes large and terrified, his small chest heaving as his breaths came out short and rapid, shaking his head frantically as tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, and more followed, his small shoulders shaking with restrained cries. "Arthur..."_

_A strangled whimper, caught between a sob and a breathless gasp. Arthur let the emptiness push out all compassion and sympathy and love for him out of his heart._

_Uther's nose flared, his mouth snarling with repulsion as he glared somberly at the servant, gray eyes as sharp and crude as his sword pointing at the three sorcerers' throat. Morgana's scrunched features held an expression of shock and bewilderment and puzzlement, and also of slight hurt._

_Guards were called, the sorcerers passing out and being taken away, their knees sliding against the cold, smooth ground._

_Arthur stared down at the ground, impassive and hardened, as the guards roughly grasped Merlin's biceps, their grip brutally tight to the point of possibly dark bruises. But Merlin barely seemed to notice as he was harshly dragged away from the prince, his face crumpling as he stared at Arthur through wide, pleading eyes, blue irises hazing with tears._

_"Arthur, I'm sorry..."_

"I can't believe it," Arthur breathed out, laughing unamusedly as he shook his head in disbelief. "I just can't bloody well believe it."

Merlin swallowed, looking down at his lissome hands. Hands that have done so much magic throughout his entire life. For a moment, he let himself feel guilty. Let himself believe that he truly was a monster for being so different, despite what his mother, Gaius and Will had told him. "I'm sorry..." he said softly as his lips trembled, his contrite voice breaking.

Arthur said nothing to that.

The silent ambiance was thick and stifling with all the emotions it held, emotions so strong it was practically radiating off the two men.

"I should be hating you," Arthur said, suddenly invading the silence. His tone was unreadable, but his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, with a very slight bit of the carefully veiled sorrow seeping in. And the words were like an arrow shot through Merlin's heart, sharp and sudden and painful. His stomach dropped, clenching and sickening and hurting while he kept his head downcast, the back of his burning eyes pushing out tears at the words.

"I should be wanting to kill you where you stand, right here, right now, like my father always taught me to," he whispered the cruel, acidic words into the bars of the cage. "I should be wanting to see you burn at the stakes, see you hanged, beheaded, drowned. I should be wanting to run my sword through you. Should be satisfied, seeing you in these cells and chains, knowing that we've just caught a sorcerer and are about to rid Camelot of its evil.

I should be wanting to see you _dead_. Because, after all, it _is_ what I've been taught to feel my whole life, isn't it? It's hard to lose old habits, like you once said."

Merlin sniffed quietly, closing his eyes and ducking his head to hide the burning tears as another bout of sharp pain jolted across his heart at the words. Maybe he had seen them coming. He just didn't realize how much it would hurt; how painful the consuming despair of losing all his friends would be, and all merely because of his magical powers that he never even chose or wanted to have. Sometimes, in a very deep part of his heart, he wished he never had them either, feared and hated them just as much as Uther did.

"I _trusted_ you. I've always turned to _you_ when I had confusions or problems out of all the many advisors in the court."

That was when the tears fell.

And a quiet and strangled, "_I'm sorry_," was all he could manage to say as he stared down at his hands, vision blurring as his face twisted slightly. There was no visible accusation in Arthur's voice, just weariness and sadness. But somehow, Merlin knew it was there.

"So tell me, Merlin," Arthur only whispered softly after a while, seemingly ignoring Merlin's apology. Merlin thought that maybe it was too quiet for him to hear. "Why does it hurt, seeing you like this? Seeing you in these cells, chained... why can't I hate you? Why is it that... that I can't even handle the _thought _of killing you? Why does the thought of watching you die seem so impossible to bear, so... so bloody _painful_?" he asked, his voice tight with hurt and so _childlike_ and _confused_ that Merlin wanted to break down right then and there. "Why does it hurt so much?" he heard him whisper, his voice cracking, and he knew that Arthur was clenching his jaw, trying to hold back his tears. And he knew he would have done anything to take away his prince's pain.

There was silence, giving Merlin a chance to take all of his words in. Though it ached for his friend, his racing heart still beamed with hope as he wondered, does this mean Arthur doesn't hate him? That he won't die with his best friend hating him? Does this mean that there's hope for absolution after all? For their friendship?

"I don't think... I-I can't," he said quietly, his hands tightening on the bars as his features crumpled slightly. "I can't let you die."

Merlin smiled softly, fondly, at his friend. Because he knew that he wasn't as afraid of dying as he was of dying with _Arthur hating him_. And he knew that, right then and there, that was all he needed to hear before he burned into ashes in the flames of his execution.

"And that's why..." Arthur whispered, so sad and scared and so soft and quiet, that Merlin almost didn't hear him. He heard him heave in a large, shuddering breath that almost resembled a harsh and broken sob.

His jaw clenched as he held back tears, his face crumpling slightly. "That's why I'm going to have to let you go."

A light click echoed, and the door of the cell slowly creaked open.

Merlin's eyes knit together in shock and confusion as his body tensed upright. "Arthur..." he whispered.

Arthur's head remained ducked dejectedly and his body slumped in defeat and sorrow, a posture that was so unlike him, because Merlin couldn't remember a single time seeing him like that in all his years with him. Because he had always seen his chin lifted high and his back straightened like the strong and confident prince that he was, sure and brave and royal.

Now he looked so uncertain, so vulnerable and so bloody _human_ that every fibre in Merlin's body wanted to take him in his arms and hide him somewhere from the rest of the world, somewhere no anguish could ever find him.

Arthur slowly walked in, head bowed, and moved towards the young warlock. He knelt in front of him just as he reached him, taking his slightly raw and red and small wrists into his hand, almost tenderly, and he entered the key into the shackles' lock, twisting it open. And for a moment, Merlin could only stare at him through big, puzzled and wet eyes, unable to recover from the shock of the sudden turn of events.

The metal handcuffs fell away, and Arthur sat back.

"Arthur..." Merlin could only whisper, awed and stupefied into speechlessness.

"There's not much time. You need to leave now," Arthur told him, his voice quiet. "They could be here any minute."

"Arthur, I..."

"_Now_," Arthur repeated, and Merlin was just so grateful for the short return of his usual demanding and authoritative tone that he could almost cry.

Merlin swallowed and nodded briefly, standing up and almost falling back down as his numb legs tried to drag him down if it weren't for the swift hands that shot up to catch his biceps from below, and when he looked down, he saw his blue eyes staring at him. That was the first time Merlin got to see Arthur's face properly, worn and sad and ten years older and yet, still so childlike and scared.

He exited the door of the cells, swallowing down the painful heaviness in his throat and blinking away the tears when he glanced back at the prince's hunched back, still sitting there silently and looking down at his hands sadly.

"I won't ever forget you, Arthur," he began, his fond voice gentle and small, but audible enough to reach across the room. And though he received no reaction from him, he knew he was listening. "Thank you."

And he paused, and then swallowed before he added a soft, "Forgive me."

He heard footsteps nearing, and with one last look at his best friend...

He fled.

.

.

.

He looked back at the majestic tower of Camelot looming over the forests just as the loud warning bells of his escape rang out.

"_Goodbye Arthur_."

* * *

It had been six months.

He stepped through the gates of Camelot, and the feeling of _home_ immediately enveloped him, filling his chest with a sense of love and ebullience. Finally, after all these years, he would be coming back to meet every one of his friends again. His family. His precious home and his cherished family that he had missed so immensely. He still remembered how his heart yearned so intensely to return to this place, how strongly he wished to see all of them again.

And now he was here.

After all that time, he was _finally here._

Excitement and nervousness churned his gut, sped his heart and caused it to hammer heavily against his sternum as the scent and sight of this place brought forth all kinds of thoughts in his mind, filled his head with past memories and future expectations. And many questions. How would they all react to seeing him again after such long, agonizing months (_or at least, that was how it had been for him_)? How would his life continue again? How would everything seem after all that time? Would things feel changed or the same as it had always been before? How would things between Arthur and him be now? Did Arthur still feel betrayed and angry? What about the others, if they had found out?

Some questions left him feeling excited, the others made him afraid and anxious. The uncertainty of everything was, to say the least, killing him.

He came to a stop, and for a moment, he simply stood there as his head remained bowed.

And then he slowly lifted his head, his eyes roving over the city. Over his home.

And rove they did, taking in the sight of every inch of Camelot, wholly and completely, and he let himself be consumed by the overwhelming emotions of adoration and joy that overcame his being and let the intense longing that had lingered inside him - like an ache that could never find relief other than being where he belonged and was meant to be - for the past six months begin to fade away because now he was really _here_.

Merlin slowly pulled back the hood of his cloak, smiling.

.

He was striding towards the castle gates, speaking to a knight following him about a topic that regarded his regal duties, when he saw _him_.

And for a moment, his shock unabled him to think, to move or speak or do _anything_. He just stared, blue eyes boring deeply into the face of the man who just removed his hood, his smiling face no longer hiding under its shadows and there for everyone to see openly.

And then he looked at him, _right at him_, and he seemed to become the same as him, shocked and still and silent, deep blue eyes enlarged towards him.

It seemed as if the rest of the world had disappeared for a moment, and they were all there was.

Six months. It's been six months since they've seen each other. Six months of dreaming and wishing to see each other. And now they are. Now they are finally seeing each other, right there and in front of each other, and neither of them had any idea what to do or what to think about that.

Because it had been so long, and they haven't exactly parted on the best terms, though not on the worst either, perhaps.

But despite all of that, the overwhelming sense of happiness that flowed through his entire being and filled him to the brim didn't lessen in the least, and he grinned joyfully, corners of his mouth stretched wide across his cheeks as he turned completely away from the knight he was speaking to, and fully towards the best friend, the brother, he hadn't seen for half a year.

And his smile, it seemed, was the permission for Merlin, the reassurance that everything was okay. And suddenly, he was grinning too, his large goofy smile taking over his face. His mouth moved a little, in a whisper that Arthur couldn't hear from a distance, but he knew he was saying his name.

For a moment, he felt tears prick at his eyes at the sight of him, remembering how he had missed this man in front of him for the next few three months before accepting that he was gone. But of course, never accepting that he would never see him again. He couldn't do that no matter how much he tried.

But then, he knew that he couldn't let himself show such strong emotions in the midst of all the people surrounding him, and so he did the next best thing, reverting back to his typical prattish attitude. "You bloody idiot!" he yelled, marching down towards him. Merlin looked a bit astonished at him, but then his lips twitched. "The ban was lifted a month ago! Where the hell were you?" Arthur exclaimed just as he reached him, feigning irritation and impatience as he clasped his shoulders and shook him a little.

"I, uh, I..." Merlin stammered, unsure of what to say.

But Arthur's next words became his savior, relief washing over him just as they sunk into his mind. "Actually, shut up. Don't answer, I honestly don't care. But you've been neglecting your duties for the past six months now and you'll have to pay for that."

Merlin wanted to gape, wanted to be irritated and annoyed and shocked. He had been running for his life all these months after all. The least the prat could have done was show some compassion and sympathy and ask him how he had been instead of worrying about his dishevelled room and unpolished boots.

But all he felt was joy. He was right where he belonged, by Arthur's side. And that maybe, things hadn't changed much after all.

It seemed Arthur felt the same way, when he suddenly had no qualms about hugging his manservant in front of everyone as an arm folded around his waist while the other one slowly and tightly grasped his small shoulders, pulling him closer against a broad chest, and he felt a warm and callous hand find its way into the back of his black hair.

"I knew you'd come back, Merlin," Arthur whispered softly, burying his nose into his shoulder as he smiled. "_Welcome home_."

* * *

THE END


End file.
